


Loose End (A Calling Home Remix)

by IAmANonnieMouse



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28494093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: “I’m sorry,” he says, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “I didn’t—”“Hey, hey, Robbie.” Eames grabs him by the shoulders and stops him. “Robbie. It’s fine. You did nothing wrong.”Robert swallows and tries to breathe. “I—”“Robbie.” Eames shakes him gently and catches his eye. “I’m happy you slept. Okay? Don’t you dare apologize for anything.”(A Robert POV toLoose Endby the one and onlystorm_of_sharp_things)
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception), Arthur/Eames/Robert Fischer
Comments: 16
Kudos: 42
Collections: Loose Ends





	Loose End (A Calling Home Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [storm_of_sharp_things](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_of_sharp_things/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Loose End](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28050234) by [storm_of_sharp_things](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_of_sharp_things/pseuds/storm_of_sharp_things). 



> let's just call this an oops-my-hand-slipped-my-fic-wife-is-too-inspirational fic? i guess??

He's in a farmer's market, looking for an anchor to reality under the kumquats and artichokes, when he sees a familiar face in the crowd. It isn't a conscious decision; it's a compulsion. He drops his fruit and chases after the man, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.

 _I know you,_ he thinks, hand outstretched as if he can just reach out and drag the man back to him. _Can you help me?_

He loses time, then. He doesn’t remember how he leaves the market. He doesn’t remember how he ends up in the man’s house, a gun in his hands, heart pounding so loudly he can’t hear anything else. 

But that’s to be expected, since this is all a dream. 

Right?

“It’s you,” he says, voice rough. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Have you?” the man says brightly. “I’m afraid I don’t give autographs, but you’re not the first to ask, Mr. Fischer.”

Robert shudders. “How do you know my name?”

The man smiles, and something nearby clicks. By the time Robert realizes it’s the front door, the man in front of him is saying, “Welcome home, darling. Mr. Fischer has found himself at a bit of a loose end and has spent some effort to track us down.”

Robert turns to face another man, just as familiar. He can remember it in flashes: a hotel room, an avalanche. _Couldn’t someone have dreamt up a goddamn beach?_

The second man talks to him, then. There’s an entire dialogue between all three of them. But it’s all a blur of exhaustion and sounds, and somehow, some way, Robert is catching a soft, cozy blanket and lying down on their couch and, somehow, some way, falling fast asleep.

*

He wakes up to coffee and bacon. Or, at least, the smell of bacon. He keeps the blanket wrapped around himself as he trails into the kitchen, and manages not to flinch when the second man pushes out a chair for him.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to be any trouble.”

“You haven’t been much trouble yet, Mr. Fischer.”

Robert can’t quite stop his wince at the man’s words, at the ominous _yet_ left hanging. He hasn’t been much trouble _yet._ But he will be. He always is.

The first man, the one Robert followed home from the market, plonks a mug of coffee in front of Robert and pats Robert’s shoulder. His hand trails down Robert’s back over-so-briefly. Robert tries to hide his tremor. 

It’s silly, almost, to think it. But he hasn’t been touched in so long.

He lifts his mug. He drinks his coffee. He watches these two men, and wishes.

They offer him their spare room. _A refuge_ , the first man says. It’s almost too much to hope for.

He tries to say no. Tries to leave before he can trouble them. _Not yet._

But they convince him, in their own way.

“Yeah, it’ll be a terrible imposition just having sex in bed,” the first man says.

“Stay,” the second man says. “But putting up with Eames is an inescapable cost, so weigh your decision carefully.”

So Robert agrees. It’s worth a try.

*

They set him up in the spare room. They tell him their names. They welcome him into their homes.

It’s more than Robert has ever been given. But it’s not enough. 

Sleep eludes him, no matter how hard he tries. It’s terrifying, still—that confusion of whether he’s awake or asleep.

Arthur and Eames do their best to help him, but he can never feel perfectly safe. What if this is all a dream?

One night, when he’s sick of staring at the ceiling, he stumbles into the living room and finds Eames on the couch, laughing at some television show.

“Robbie,” Eames says, with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s worried about Robert. They both are. “Can’t sleep?”

Robert shakes his head.

“Me neither. I hate it when Arthur isn’t home.” Eames lifts an arm. “Join me?”

Robert joins him. Somehow, he ends up plastered against Eames’ side, tucked under Eames’ arm. It’s warm, and soft, and Robert’s eyes start to grow heavy. Eames is rubbing his arm, just a gentle up-down where his thumb is resting, and Robert wonders what would happen if he asked Eames for more. For maybe a back rub, or a cuddle. 

He falls asleep before he can muster up the words.

He wakes up four hours later to Eames’ hand tracing patterns on his back, and his head resting in Eames’ lap. He sits up frantically, so fast he almost falls off the couch.

“I’m sorry,” he says, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “I didn’t—”

“Hey, hey, Robbie.” Eames grabs him by the shoulders and stops him. “Robbie. It’s fine. You did nothing wrong.”

Robert swallows and tries to breathe. “I—”

“Robbie.” Eames shakes him gently and catches his eye. “I’m happy you slept. Okay? Don’t you dare apologize for anything.”

Robert looks away. “Okay.”

“I mean it,” Eames says. “I’m happy to serve as your pillow any time you need some sleep.”

Robert nods and manages to make his escape semi-gracefully. In the safety of his own room, he tells himself that’s never going to happen again.

So, naturally, he falls asleep on Eames two nights later. And naturally, that’s the night Arthur comes home.

*

It’s deja vu, Arthur walking in on Robert and Eames—and that sends Robert into a tailspin, trying to remember when he fell asleep and how long he’s been under. But Eames pulls him just a little closer and holds him tightly until Robert’s heart can slow back down.

Eames would know if they were asleep. So they must be awake.

“Darling!” Eames cries. “We missed you terribly.”

Robert abruptly realizes that he’s still mostly sprawled on the couch with his head in Eames’ lap and this definitely does not look good. But Eames won’t release his hold, so Robert stops fighting him.

Apologies crowd at the tip of his tongue, but he forces them back. Eames hates it when he apologizes for everything. Arthur, too.

“I missed you too,” Arthur says. He walks around the couch and sits at Robert’s feet, as if he hasn’t just walked in to find a man sleeping in his boyfriend’s lap. “What have you been up to?”

“I’ve been catching up on this marvelous Korean soap opera,” Eames says. “And Robbie’s been catching up on some much-needed sleep.”

Robert tries not to cower when Arthur’s sharp eyes land on him, and he blinks when Arthur’s face breaks into a smile. “I’m glad,” Arthur says, dimple flashing. 

And the most amazing thing? Robert believes him.

*

Eames starts touching him more, and Robert grows to love it—the easy weight of Eames’ arm around his shoulders, the feeling of their legs tangling together as they binge Eames’ latest soap opera obsession.

Once, they decide to surprise Arthur with dinner and spend the afternoon in the kitchen together, shoulders brushing easily. 

Robert learns to live for those gentle touches. 

It’s been weeks since Robert tracked Eames from the farmer’s market. Arthur’s away on another job, but he’s due back any minute, thankfully. Eames gets antsy when Arthur’s not around, and Robert gets worried when either of them are unhappy.

He falls asleep with his head in Eames’ lap, smiling at the feeling of Eames’ fingers running through his hair. When he wakes up, Eames rubs his back gently and says, “You ready to try something new?”

Before Robert can ask what he means, Arthur enters the room, a PASIV in hand. Robert’s on his feet and reaching out before he can think twice about it. _It’s so good to have you home,_ he almost says. 

But he stops himself just in time, tucks his hands in his pockets. It isn’t his place. It isn’t his _home._

But then Arthur reaches out himself, and pulls Robert into a gentle hug. It’s amazing and wonderful, and so different from Eames’ hugs but oh, so powerful. 

“Glad you’re back,” he manages, burying his face in Arthur’s shoulder. He inhales the familiar scent of Arthur’s cologne and tries not to sigh with happiness.

“You may not be for long,” Arthur says, voice dry. “We want to take you under with us.”

There’s banter and joking, and eventually, Arthur’s slips a needle under Robert’s skin, and Eames pulls him back onto the couch, wrapped protectively around him. Arthur sits on the floor, one hand resting on Robert’s ankle, and there’s a hiss and a chill, and—

—Robert opens his eyes on a sailboat, rocking gently under the moonlit sky. 

Arthur holds out a hand and gently pulls Robert closer. “So,” he says, “let us tell you about the dreamscape.”

*

He wakes gently, calmly. There’s no doubt this time, no fear. He knows he was asleep. And he knows that, now, he is awake.

And he also knows, with more certainty than he’s had in years, that he wants to dream again.

*

Arthur goes under with him the first few times, teaching him the intricacies of architecture and dream structure.

“It’s a paradox,” Robert says as they climb the penrose steps.

Arthur smiles, flashing a dimple. “Exactly.”

Robert returns his grin. “Can I build a mobius strip?”

Arthur’s eyes light up. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He teaches Robert how to control the dreamscape, how to shape it to his whims. And over time, Robert begins to understand.

Dreamshare is terrifying, yes. Dangerous, even. But it’s also paradoxically, impossibly beautiful.

*

It’s been months now since he arrived, uninvited, at their home. Nobody’s said a word about Robert leaving. Nobody’s even hinted at it.

In fact, sometimes, if Robert’s feeling truly wistful, he thinks that Arthur and Eames might want him to stay. It’s there, hidden in the pauses between their words, the quiet glances they share. 

But he hopes that’s always how it is, this quiet stasis between them all. Because he’s seen Arthur and Eames together, seen the way they curl around each other and pull each other close. He’s seen them kiss, and clutch, and tease. 

Robert knows he can’t give that to them, but he doesn’t want to leave. And he knows that, if they ask him to stay, and he says no, that’s exactly what he’ll have to do. He doesn’t have anything else to offer them, after all. And they’ve already given him so much.

So instead he waits, and hopes, and dreams.

*

It’s habit at this point—practically tradition—for Robert to fall asleep on Eames while they’re sitting on the couch.

What isn’t habit is for Robert to wake up alone, without Eames wrapped around him in some way, shape, or form.

He gets up slowly, and heads for the kitchen, then hesitates in the doorway. Looking.

Arthur’s against the counter, Eames pressed against his back. They’re kissing, so wrapped up in each other that it seems impossible to separate them. They break for air and, as if on cue, turn to face Robert.

It feels as if time stops. And then Arthur extends a hand.

“Oh, no,” Robert says, “I’m not, I mean, I don’t—”

Arthur says, “Robert. We know.”

He says, “That’s not what we need to discuss.”

He says, “We want you here.”

He pulls Robert closer, tugs him into the space they’ve made between them, until Robert’s surrounded. He burrows his face into Arthur’s neck as Eames wraps around him from behind. He’s warm, and soft, and wanted.

There are more words, more hugs. Then Eames says, “There’s nothing wrong with you, you know.”

He says, “Not everything’s about sex.”

And something inside Robert breaks, just a little, at his words, so he finds the breath to say, “But I don’t have anything else to offer.”

And, well. Arthur and Eames put that concern to bed right away. They kiss, after, with Robert still tucked between them, and Robert rests his head on Eames’ shoulder and sighs with happiness.

This, he thinks, is exactly where he belongs.

*


End file.
